Apathy and Vigour (Sins of the Virtuous Book 4)

Chapter 4

The darkness began to clear. In its place came pain unlike anything Tristen had ever felt before. His mind was a blur of images of fire and the unconscious bodies of Jacob and Amanda, he struggled to open his eyes, knowing he had to find some way to save them from the burning building. When he opened his eyes though, what he saw was the inside of his bedroom at his father's station house.

"How did I get here?" Pain shot through his cheek as he moved his mouth to talk, and he immediately lifted his hand to it.

"You mustn't touch it, sir," he heard someone say as footsteps approached him. "I shall fetch your father. He'll be most eager to see you."

Tristen tried to sit up in bed, but as pain shot through one of his arms and across his chest, he realized it was hopeless. Looking down, he saw stitches scattered up along his arm toward his shoulder, as well as some sticky substance plastered on the burnt skin covering his chest.

"How in the hell did I get here?" he asked, his eyes still focusing on his surroundings.

The servant that wanted to go fetch his father stalled in his retreat.

Receiving nothing but his silence, Tristen thought he might try a different approach. "Why am I here?" he asked. "I was at a party at the Fergus's estate. There was a fire..." His words drifted off, his mind plagued with the images of two hurt and unconscious people that had been in that burning building with him.

"I will go get your father," the servant said. "He will be able to explain everything to you."

Waiting until he was left alone, Tristen tried to sit up again, using his injured arm for guidance and his other for strength to move him. He had barely managed to move a few inches when his father ran into the room.

"What in heaven's name do you think you're doing?" the old man asked his son, coming to a stop just inside the doorway. He walked quickly toward the bed. "I'll help you lay back down and get comfortable. The doctor insisted you were to stay in bed and hardly move in case you busted open the stitches again."

When his father stopped beside the bed, Tristen reached out for him, his hand grabbing the older man's arm. "There was a fire," he started, needing his father to listen. "Amanda and Jacob were hurt."

The old man nodded as he helped his son to lie back down. "You best not worry about such things now. You just need to concentrate on getting better."

There was something about the way his father avoided his gaze that made his stomach begin to sink. "What is it, Father?" he asked. "What has happened?"

The old man shook his head, again trying to lay his son back against the pillows. "You need to heal first. Then you can worry about the details of that night."

"That night?" Tristen asked. "How long have I been here?"

His father left him, walking over to the drinks tray on the desk. Pouring himself a glass of liquor, he downed it in one gulp. "I thought I'd lost you that night," he said as he poured himself another drink. "When you were dragged from the burnt rubble of the cottage, you were covered in burns and bloodied from the glass embedded in your skin. The doctor came and stitched you up as best as he could and put jelly bush honey on your burns." He downed another drink. "Your mother and I have been waiting three days for you to wake up. She'll be so relieved when I tell her you've regained consciousness."

Tristen fell back against the bed, his mind a maze of all he'd just been told. "And Jacob and Amanda?" he asked, wondering if they had suffered a similar fate to him.

His father remained silent, staring into the contents of his glass.

"Father, tell me what happened to them."